Batfamily Values
by Destiny919
Summary: A series of one-shots and drabbles about everyone's favorite dysfunctional family o' Bats.
1. My Birthday's Back

**A/N: This is the shitty first installment in my Batfamily series. It'll get less sentimental and more funny/dramatic later on. I just love the group dynamic between all of them, and wish we saw it more. **

Bruce sighed. It had been a long day. One wouldn't think that a showdown with the Joker was less tiring than a board meeting, but such was not the case. At least with an insane criminal he could be himself. He could be Batman. With a feeling of slight dread, he flipped up the marble bust's head and pressed the button. The door to the Batcave appeared, and he stepped through, pausing at the top of the steep stairs and trying to see in the dark without his cowl's vision enhancement. It would be a difficult feat, successfully throwing Batman a surprise party that was actually a surprise. If anyone could do it, it would be his various protégés. Unfortunately, Damian was ten. Ten-year-olds, no matter how they have been raised, are not known for their ability to keep a secret. In Damian's case, this held true for small things like a surprise party, although not for important matters involving hero work, which was a blessing. Still, he'd have to act surprised anyway. Most of them wouldn't mind, but Stephanie, Tim, and probably even Dick would be rather disappointed if he didn't. Bracing himself, he went down the stairs, and as soon as his feet touched the bottom step "SURPRISE!" The lights flipped on.

The Batcave, normally a rather dismal place full of stalagmites and the most cutting-edge tech Lucius Fox could obtain, was now decorated in paper chains and balloons, with a long table covered in a white cloth.

Everyone was there. Grinning Dick, his hand on Damian's shoulder, who was desperately trying to scowl, and Babs next to him in her chair. Steph was jumping up and down while Cass smiled widely, for her. Tim was holding the cake, a monstrosity of drippy white frosting and a few dozen candles. "Happy Birthday Bruce!" was written in red. Alfred hovered unobtrusively in the background, but there was a satisfied smile beneath his moustache. Even Jason was there, albeit standing with his back against the side of the computer, looking at no one.

Bruce felt the long day lift from his shoulders as he stepped forward and was surrounded by people. Surrounded by his family.

.

.

"So how did you get Jason here?" he asked Dick through a mouthful of cake.

"Oh, Kory still has a soft spot for me." He winked. "Just asked her for a few favors, and then convinced Jason not to leave again after he came to. You're happy he's here, right?" Dick looked a bit worried.

"Of course," Bruce reassured him. "I wouldn't want my second-eldest to miss my party. Did you invite any Leaguers to come tonight?"

Dick shook his head. "Nah. Supes would've come, but we wanted it to be just us. He's taking you to dinner in Metropolis tomorrow, though. I think they might have a thing at the Watchtower, too." Dick chuckled at the mental image. "So, are you going to open your presents here, or wait until the dead of night when no one will see you try on the ties?"

"How bad is Damian's?"

"Pretty awful. He wouldn't listen to any of my advice, and Steph just egged him on. Said orange was your color."

"What did _you_ get me?" Bruce asked, a little solemnly.

"You'll have to open it and find out."

.

.

"Uh, thanks, Damian. I don't have any ties this color." Bruce held up the silk nightmare against his blue shirt.

"You're welcome, Father," the boy said rather stiffly. Dick punched him on the shoulder.

"Here, Bruce, open mine next!" Steph offered hers, and Bruce opened it. A T-shirt bearing the phrase "I traveled through history and all I got was this lousy T-Shirt." He coughed. "Thank you, Stephanie. Very . . . very funny."

"Open Dick's next," suggested Babs. "I know he's been excited about it." She and Dick shared a smile.

Bruce accepted the wrapped package and opened it. There was a large leather-bound book a photo album. With slight trepidation, Bruce opened it. The pictures were mostly of the time he'd spent away, and ranged from Damian covering his face, quite obviously screaming, and brandishing his sword at the camera, to Dick and Tim wearing matching pink and yellow party hats at a bemused Cass's birthday party. Bruce kept turning the pages until his eyes were too wet to see.

.

.

It was way past midnight, and the party was almost done winding down. After making valiant efforts to stay up and continue looking sullen, he'd fallen asleep with his head on Stephanie's shoulder (he would have been horrified to know this, and might have tried to commit suicide if he knew she'd kissed the top of his head). Dick was helping Alfred clean up the plates of half-eaten cake. And Jason had still not said a word all night.

Steeling himself, Bruce walked over to him. "Hello, Jason."

"Bruce." Jason nodded. ". . . Happy Birthday, I guess."

"Thanks. I'm glad you came. I didn't think you would have."

Jason snorted. "I wouldn't have. Blame Starfire and Dick." Bruce looked skeptical. "I don't get why you want me here anyway. Dick is just weird that way, but you "

"I always want you around, Jason. It's you who always wants to leave."

"Yeah, well, keep talkin' and I'll want to again," he snapped. "Not not that I don't right now."

"Of course you don't."

"S'matter of fact, I told Roy and Kory I'd be back by morning."

"It's good to hear you're working together so well."

"Yeah." Jason looked around the perennially lonely Batcave, full of people. "I could say the same about you."


	2. Show No Mercy

Damian squinted through his binoculars. They weren't ordinary ones, of course. Wayne Enterprises R&D had come up with a pair whose least impressive feature was the ability to function as a high-powered telescope. That function wasn't needed at this point in time, but little toys like these made it easier to deal with his father's other insufferable partners in heroics. Unfortunately, the worst of them was beside him, looking through his own, rather less fancy binoculars.

"See anything, Drake?" he asked reluctantly.

"No."

"Of course, you wouldn't."

"What's that supposed to mean, pipsqueak?"

"Hey! How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that, you cretin?"

"Keep your voice down! We're on stakeout, remember? We're supposed to remain inconspicuous. This perp can't realize we're here waiting for him."

"Yes, because your big red target of a uniform is such excellent camouflage."

"I could say the same about yours, traffic light boy."

"At least I didn't choose mine! Batman made me wear it, said something about it being the _traditional _Robin uniform." Bruce had probably been desperate for his son to resemble anything even close to a traditional Robin.

"Well, it is. But I agree, you're not exactly a traditional Robin."

Could Drake read minds? "Was that an insult, swan queen?"

"Was _that_?" Tim snapped, bristling like he always did when someone made fun of his, well, his wings.

"Yes. An accurate one."

"Well well," Tim scrambled for a comeback, "your little hood is _so_ practical."

"Better a hood than a burglar ski mask. Really, Drake, you call yourself a hero when you look like a Hollywood bank robber." Damian sniffed. "Why did Father send us on patrol together, anyway? I'm more than capable of handling it alone "

"Oh yeah, that went so well last time."

"Shut up! It was _one_ radioactive cat "

" That went on to have three litters of mutant kittens. And those have tried to murder the scientists working on them."

Huh. Maybe he should adopt some of them, actually use them as the weapons he'd thought cats could be . . . "Well, they haven't succeeded, have they?" That pesky no-murdering rule probably still applied to felines.

"That's not for lack of trying."

"Oh, forget this." Damian stood up from his crouching pose. "I'm going alone. You're not needed here, go home."

"Batman specifically sent us on patrol together, though."

"I don't care."

"Uh huh." Though Damian couldn't see it, Tim got a crafty look on his face. "I hear he asked Nightwing to go with you, but he didn't want to. I guess maybe he's gotten tired of your bratty behavior."

Damian whipped his head around. "Take that back," he growled. His hand went to the hilt of his sword, but then he realized he hadn't brought it with him. Curses.

"No, I won't. Nightwing doesn't like you anymore."

Damian lunged at him. The two of them rolled on the ground, punching and kicking. Despite the younger boy's size, he managed to get the better of Tim. Holding him by the throat, Damian snarled, "Say mercy!"

"Never!"

"Say mercy! I know over a hundred ways to kill a man, don't make me describe them to you!"

"Alright, alright, mercy!"

"Ha." Damian scrambled away. And when he turned around, he realized that the man they were after was standing right there, looking very bemused. "Uh," Damian said.

"Don't worry," said the perp. "Mercy, mercy. Please, just don't describe all those murdering methods to me."

Damian punched him.


End file.
